The Border Rifles: A Tale of the Texan War

by Gustave Aimard

  E-text prepared by Camille Bernard & Marc D'Hooghe(https://www.freeliterature.org)

  THE BORDER RIFLES.

  A Tale of the Texan War

  by

  GUSTAVE AIMARD,

  Author of "Trapper's Daughter," "Indian Scout," etc.

  London:Ward and Lock,158, Fleet Street.MDCCCLXI.

  PREFACE

  In the series commencing with the present volume GUSTAVE AIMARD hasentirely changed the character of his stories. He has selected amagnificent episode of American history, the liberation of Texas fromthe intolerable yoke of the Mexicans, and describes scenes _quorum parsmagna fuit_. At the present moment, when all are watching with batedbreath the results of the internecine war commencing between North andSouth, I believe that the volumes our author devotes to this subjectwill be read with special interest, for they impart much valuableinformation about the character of the combatants who will, to a greatextent, form the nucleus of the confederated army. The North looks downon them with contempt, and calls them "Border ruffians;" but when themoment arrives, I entertain no doubt but that they will command respectby the brilliancy of their deeds.

  Surprising though the events may be which are narrated in the presentvolume, they are surpassed by those that continue the series. The nextvolume, shortly to appear under the title of "The Freebooters,"describes the progress of the insurrection till it attained theproportions of a revolution, while the third and last volume will bedevoted to the establishment of order in that magnificent State ofTexas, which has cast in its lot with the Secessionists, and willindubitably hold out to the very last, confident in the prowess of itssons, whose fathers Aimard has so admirably depicted in the present andthe succeeding volumes of the new series.

  L.W.

  CONTENTS.

  I. THE RUNAWAY XVI. A POLITICAL SKETCH II. QUONIAM XVII. THE PANTHER-KILLER III. BLACK AND WHITE XVIII. LANZI IV. THE MANADA XIX. THE CHASE V. BLACK-DEER XX. THE CONFESSION VI. THE CLAIM XXI. THE JAGUAR VII. MONKEY-FACE XXII. BLUE-FOXVIII. THE DECLARATION OF WAR XXIII. THE WHITE SCALPER IX. THE SNAKE PAWNEES XXIV. AFTER THE FIGHT X. THE BATTLE XXV. AN EXPLANATION XI. THE VENTA DEL POTRERO XXVI. THE EXPRESS XII. LOVE AND JEALOUSY XXVII. THE GUIDEXIII. CARMELA XXVIII. JOHN DAVIS XIV. THE CONDUCTA DE PLATA XXIX. THE BARGAIN XV. THE HALT XXX. THE AMBUSCADE

  CHAPTER I.

  THE RUNAWAY.

  The immense virgin forests which once covered the soil of North Americaare more and more disappearing before the busy axes of the squatters andpioneers, whose insatiable activity removes the desert frontier furtherand further to the west.

  Flourishing towns, well tilled and carefully-sown fields, now occupyregions where, scarce ten years ago, rose impenetrable forests, whosedense foliage hardly allowed the sunbeams to penetrate, and whoseunexplored depths sheltered animals of every description, and served asa retreat for hordes of nomadic Indians, who, in their martial ardour,frequently caused these majestic domes of verdure to re-echo with theirwar-yell.

  Now that the forests have fallen, their gloomy denizens, graduallyrepulsed by the civilization that incessantly pursues them, have fledstep by step before it, and have sought far away other and saferretreats, to which they have borne the bones of their fathers with them,lest they might be dug up and desecrated by the inexorable ploughshareof the white men, as it traces its long and productive furrow over theirold hunting-grounds.

  Is this constant disafforesting and clearing of the American continent amisfortune? Certainly not: on the contrary, the progress which marcheswith a giant's step, and tends, before a century, to transform the soilof the New World, possesses all our sympathy; still we cannot refrainfrom a feeling of pained commiseration for that unfortunate race whichis brutally placed beyond the pale of the law, and pitilessly tracked inall directions; which is daily diminishing, and is fatally condemnedsoon to disappear from that earth whose immense territory it coveredless than four centuries ago with innumerable tribes.

  Perhaps if the people chosen by God to effect the changes to which weallude had understood their mission, they might have converted a work ofblood and carnage into one of peace and paternity, and arming themselveswith the divine precepts of the Gospel, instead of seizing rifles,torches, and scalping-knives, they might, in a given time, have produceda fusion of the white and red races, and have attained a result moreprofitable to progress, civilization, and before all, to that greatfraternity of nations which no one is permitted to despise, and forwhich those who forget its divine and sacred precepts will have aterrible account some day to render.

  Men cannot become with impunity the murderers of an entire race, andconstantly wade in blood; for that blood must at some time cry forvengeance, and the day of justice break, when the sword will be cast inthe balance between conquerors and conquered.

  At the period when our narrative commences, that is to say, about theclose of 1812, the emigration had not yet assumed that immense extensionwhich it was soon to acquire, for it was only beginning, as it were, andthe immense forests that stretched out and covered an enormous spacebetween the borders of the United States and Mexico, were only traversedby the furtive footsteps of traders and wood-rangers, or by the silentmoccasins of the Redskins.

  It is in the centre of one of the immense forests to which we havealluded that our story begins, at about three in the afternoon ofOctober 27th, 1812.

  The heat had been stifling under the covert, but at this moment thesunbeams growing more and more oblique, lengthened the tall shadows ofthe trees, and the evening breeze that was beginning to rise refreshedthe atmosphere, and carried far away the clouds of mosquitoes whichduring the whole mid-day had buzzed over the marshes in the clearings.

  We find ourselves on the bank of an unknown affluent of the Arkansas;the slightly inclined trees on either side the stream formed a thickcanopy of verdure over the waters, which were scarce rippled by theinconstant breath of the breeze; here and there pink flamingos and whiteherons, perched on their tall legs, were fishing for their dinner, withthat careless ease which generally characterizes the race of greataquatic birds; but suddenly they stopped, stretched out their necks asif listening to some unusual sound, then ran hurriedly along to catchthe wind, and flew away with cries of alarm.

  All at once the sound of a musket-shot was re-echoed through the forest,and two flamingos fell. At the same instant a light canoe doubled alittle cape formed by some mangrove-trees jutting out into the bed ofthe stream, and darted in pursuit of the flamingos which had fallen inthe water. One of them had been killed on the spot, and was driftingwith the current; but the other, apparently but slightly wounded, wasflying with extreme rapidity, and swimming vigorously.

  The boat was an Indian canoe, made of birch bark removed from the treeby the aid of hot water, and there was only one man in it; his riflelying in the bows and still smoking, shewed that it was he who had justfired. We will draw the portrait of this person, who is destined to playan important part in our narrative.

  As far as could be judged from his position in the canoe, he was a manof great height; his small head was attached by a powerful neck toshoulders of more than ordinary breadth; muscles, hard as cords, stoodout on his arms at each of his movements; in a word, the wholeappearance of this individual denoted a vigour beyond the average.

  His face, illumined by large blue eyes, sparkling with sense, had anexpression of frankness and honesty which pleased at the first glance,and completed the _ensemble_ of hi
s regular features, and wide mouth,round which an unceasing smile of good humour played. He might betwenty-three, or twenty-four at the most, although his complexion,bronzed by the inclemency of the weather, and the dense light brownbeard that covered the lower part of his face, made him appear older.

  This man was dressed in the garb of a wood-ranger: a beaver-skin cap,whose tail fell down between his shoulders, hardly restrained the thickcurls of his golden hair, which hung in disorder down his back; ahunting shirt of blue calico, fastened round his hips by a deerskinbelt, fell a little below his muscular knees; _mitasses_, or a speciesof tight drawers, covered his legs, and his feet were protected againstbrambles and the stings of reptiles by Indian moccasins.

  His game-bag, of tanned leather, hung over his shoulder, and, like allthe bold pioneers of the virgin forest, his weapons consisted of a goodKentucky rifle, a straight-bladed knife, ten inches long and two wide,and a tomahawk that glistened like a mirror. These weapons, of coursewith the exception of the rifle, were passed through his belt, whichalso supported two buffalo horns filled with powder and bullets.

  The appearance of the man thus equipped, and standing in the canoe amidthe imposing scenery that surrounded him, had something grand about itwhich created an involuntary respect.

  The wood-ranger, properly so termed, is one of those numerous types ofthe New World which must soon entirely disappear before the incessantprogress of civilization.

  The wood-rangers, those bold explorers of the deserts, in which theirwhole existence was spent, were men who, impelled by a spirit ofindependence and an unbridled desire for liberty, shook off all thetrammels of society, and who, with no other object than that of livingand dying unrestrained by any other will save their own, and in no wayimpelled by the hope of any sort of lucre, which they despised,abandoned the towns, and boldly buried themselves in the virgin forests,where they lived from day to day indifferent about the present, carelessas to the future, convinced that God would not desert them in the hourof need, and thus placed themselves outside of that common law theymisunderstood, on the extreme limit that separates barbarism fromcivilization.

  Most of the celebrated wood-rangers were French Canadians; in truth,there is in the Norman character something daring and adventurous, whichis well adapted to this mode of life, so full as it is of strangeinterludes and delicious sensations, whose intoxicating charms onlythose who have led it can understand.

  The Canadians have never admitted in principle the change of nationalitywhich the English tried to impose on them; they still regard themselvesas Frenchmen, and their eyes are constantly fixed on that ungratefulmother-country which has abandoned them with such cruel indifference.

  Even at the present day, after so many years, the Canadians have stillremained French; their fusion with the Anglo-Saxon race is onlyapparent, and the slightest pretext would suffice to produce adefinitive rupture between them and the English. The British governmentis well, aware of this fact, and hence displays toward the Canadiancolonies a marked kindliness and deference.

  At the earlier period of the conquest this repulsion (not to call ithatred) was so prominent between the two races, that the Canadiansemigrated in a mass, sooner than endure the humiliating yoke which wasattempted to be placed on them. Those of them who, too poor to leavetheir country definitively, were compelled to remain in a countryhenceforth sullied by a foreign occupation, chose the rude trade ofwood-rangers, and preferred such an existence of misery and danger tothe disgrace of enduring the laws of a detested conqueror. Shaking thedust over their shoes on the paternal roof, they threw their rifles overtheir shoulders, and stifling a sigh of regret, went away not to return,burying themselves in the impenetrable forests of Canada, and layingunconsciously the foundation of that generation of intrepid pioneers, toone of the finest specimens of whom we introduced the reader at thebeginning of this chapter.

  The hunter went on paddling vigorously; he soon reached the firstflamingo, which he threw into the bottom of his canoe. But the secondgave him more trouble. It was for a while a struggle of speed betweenthe wounded bird and the hunter: still the former gradually lost itsstrength; its movements became uncertain, and it beat the waterconvulsively. A blow from the Canadian's paddle at length put an end toits agony, and it joined its mate in the bottom of the canoe.

  So soon as he had secured his game, the hunter shipped his paddles, andprepared to reload his rifle, with the care which all devote to theoperation who know that their life depends on a charge of powder. Whenhis gun was in order again, the Canadian took an inquiring glancearound.

  "Why," he presently said, talking to himself, a habit which men who livein solitude very frequently acquire, "hang me! if I have not reached themeeting-place without suspecting it. I cannot be mistaken: over thereare the two oaks fallen across each other, and that rock, which standsout over the water. But what's that?" he exclaimed, as he stooped, andcocked his rifle.

  The furious barking of several dogs became suddenly audible in thecentre of the forest; the bushes were parted eagerly, and a Negroappeared on the top of the rock, at which the Canadian was at thismoment looking. This man, on reaching the extremity of the rock, stoppedfor an instant, and seemed to listen attentively, while displaying signsof the most extreme agitation. But this halt was short, for he hadhardly rested there for a few seconds, ere, raising his eyes to heavenin despair, he leaped into the river, and swam vigorously to theopposite bank.

  The sound of the Negro's fall into the water had hardly died away, whenseveral dogs dashed on to the platform, and began a concert of horriblebarking. These dogs were powerful animals; their tongues were pendant,their eyes infested with blood, and their hair standing on end, as ifthey had come a long distance.

  The hunter shook his head several times while giving a glance of pity atthe hapless Negro, who was swimming with that energy of despair whichdoubles the strength--and seizing his paddles, he turned the canoetoward him, with the evident intention of rendering him assistance. Atthis moment a hoarse voice was heard on the river-bank.

  "Hilloh, there! silence, you demons incarnate! silence, I tell you!"

  The dogs gave vent to a few whines of pain, and were suddenly silent.The individual who had reproved the animals then said, in a louder key--

  "Hilloh, you fellow in the canoe there!--hilloh!"

  The Canadian had just pulled to the opposite bank; he ran his canoe onthe sand, and then carelessly turned to the person who addressed him.

  This was a man of middle height, muscular, and dressed like the majorityof rich farmers. His face was brutal, crafty, and four persons,apparently servants, stood by his side; it is needless to say that allwere armed with guns.

  The stream at this spot was rather wide, being about fifty yards, which,temporarily, at any rate, established a respectable barrier between theNegro and his pursuers. The Canadian leaned against a tree.

  "Are you by chance speaking to me?" he asked, in a somewhat contemptuoustone.

  "Who else do you suppose?" the first speaker continued, angrily: "so tryand answer my questions!"

  "And why should I answer them? Will you be good enough to tell me?" theCanadian continued, with a laugh.

  "Because I order you to do so, you scoundrel!" the other said, brutally.

  The hunter shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.

  "Good-bye," he said, and made a movement as if to retire.

  "Stop where you are!" the American shouted, "or so truly as my name isJohn Davis I will put a bullet through your skull!"

  While uttering the threat he levelled his gun.

  "Ah! ah!" the Canadian went on, with a laugh, "then you're John Davis,the famous slave-dealer?"

  "Yes, I am," the other said, harshly.

  "Pardon me; but I had hitherto only known you by reputation. By Jove! Iam delighted to have seen you."

  "Well, and now that you know me, are you disposed to answer myquestions?"

  "I must know their nature first, so you had better ask them."

 
"What has become of my slave?"

  "Do you mean the man who leaped off the platform just before you reachedit?"

  "Yes. Where is he?"

  "Here, by my side."

  In fact, the Negro, his strength and courage quite exhausted from thedesperate efforts he had made during the obstinate pursuit of which hehad been the object, had dragged himself to the spot where the Canadianstood, and now lay in a half fainting condition at his feet.

  On hearing the hunter reveal his presence so clearly, he clasped hishands with an effort, and raised toward him a face bathed in tears.

  "Oh! master, master!" he cried, with an expression of agony impossibleto render, "Save me! Save me!"

  "Ah, ah!" John Davis shouted, with a grin, "I fancy we can come to anunderstanding, my fine fellow, and that you will not be sorry to gainthe reward."

  "In truth I should not be sorry to hear the price set on human flesh inwhat is called your free country. Is the reward large?"

  "Twenty dollars for a runaway nigger."

  "Pooh!" the Canadian said, thrusting out his lower lip in disgust, "thatis a trifle!"

  "Do you think so?"

  "Indeed I do."

  "Still, I only ask you to do a very simple matter in order to earnthem."

  "What is it?"

  "Tie that nigger, put him in your canoe, and bring him to me."

  "Very good. It is not difficult, I allow; and when he is in your power,supposing I do what you wish, what do you intend doing with him?"

  "That is not your business."

  "Granted: hence I only asked you for information."

  "Come! Make up your mind; I have no time to waste in chattering. What isyour decision?"

  "This is what I have to say to you, Mr. John Davis, who hunt men withdogs less ferocious than yourself, which in obeying you only yield totheir instincts--you are a villain! And if you only reckon on my help inregaining your Negro, you may consider him lost."

  "Ah, that is it!" the American shouted, as he gnashed his teethfuriously, and turned to his servants; "fire at him! Fire! Fire!"

  And joining example to precept, he quickly shouldered his gun and fired.His servants imitated him, and four shots were confounded in a singleexplosion, which the echoes of the forest mournfully repeated.